


blessed be the mystery of love

by hallowed (AMRainer)



Series: as told through history. [8]
Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Growing Old Together, Holding Hands, How many times can I say they are actually 43 years into their marriage?, Old Married Couple, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMRainer/pseuds/hallowed
Summary: they reach four decades and some years more.
Relationships: Contessina de' Bardi/Cosimo di Giovanni de' Medici
Series: as told through history. [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824556
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	blessed be the mystery of love

**Author's Note:**

> hello lovelies! i know i was supposed to post a smut!fic, but the twitter poll has spoken and said: give me wedding anniversary contimo first, modern!au second, so here we are. if y'all wanna follow me there too at your own risks, i'm @/mxdicis!
> 
> without further ado, this is entirely teddy's fault <3

Her hand fit in his. _Perfectly_ , if one asked him, despite how he would most likely overlook such thing as though he was oblivious of it.

But surely he wasn't. Noticed the very moment he held onto her hand as they said the wedding vows, when they stood before God to promise they’d love and cherish one another until their last breath, be it short or long.

Cosimo still recollected an immaculate veil, a delicate piece in gold embellishing her head and the yellow licks of late afternoon on her skin. Made her glow, ethereal and sensible like she was a vision only for him to catch a glimpse of, and perhaps that was half the reason why he stood on the altar with his jaw set and his shoulders tense.

He did not want to love her. _Never_.

It would mean the final betrayal to the idea of Bianca and the future he was forbidden to have as an artist. To build the Dome from his own ideas, to provide the finest pieces of architecture.

However, with the years to come, it was impossible not to. They had grown closer, built a wall for their own reasons after, then found each other once again in later date ( did the most difficult path, the one in which forgiveness must be implied ). Mostly on her end to bestow it upon him, but also on his as he had to find his way into more than just her mercifulness ─ a way back into what they had been for their short-lived happiness.

The banker did not think he quite deserved it. Not when she had to carry his bastard child on her hip, treat him as hers when he hadn’t even asked that of her in the first place. Contessina was a better woman than he would ever be as a man, that much he was plenty aware of, but to this extent? He thought himself little.

That was why he held onto her posed extremity that evening as she rested a careful hand on his shoulder. Beckoned him to sleep as he tried to work through the night as if he was young once again.

Only he wasn’t, and his wife knew that from the manner she silently looked down at him with those greens of her optics. He willed her closer, peered up at her with his defenseless gaze and let her take care of him as he so often denied in the past.

“Forty-three years is a mouthful”, the grey streaked man chimed in, much to her surprise as they hadn’t given much of a thought since their fortieth anniversary, when it became quite too bold to count and hope for more.

“It is”, fingertips of hers were to run through his curls, linger on the back of his head and stroke the hem of hairs she found with dear affection. “Piero insists we celebrate every year as though we are juvenile and not simply counting our blessings.”

“One day he will count his too, hopefully much later than both of us”, which was something he could only pray for, truth be told, as his son showed the signs of the gout this much sooner than he ever did.

Pushing himself with hands then splayed on the oak surface of his desk, Cosimo rose to his feet with a contained grunt of discomfort as the years settled into his bones. Reminded him that he was not in his early twenties anymore, that the ring he carried around his finger was as worn as his energy.

Her hand was steady around his arms, aiding him up to offer him better balance. Then to offer him the cane he held onto in days like this, which found him as though he was slowly becoming unbendable marble.

“You are putting weight, my love, the physician said you shouldn’t do as much. . .”, and he squinted his eyes slightly at the shorter brunette, told her that she was sounding as ancient as they were at the moment, only to have her ultimately shake her head in amusement.

“Is it my fault now you have decided to turn our kitchens into a full courtly menu?”, his retort was laced with his own jest, free hand clung to hers whilst its opposite used the wooden stick in order to move towards the doorway.

“Actually, I’ve come to think it is, since you invite men of money to our house, you surely do not expect me to serve them Lorenzo’s porridge!”.

Earned her a laughter, mirthful sound she loved to hear from his lips. It was rare, especially since the pain of his disease kept him bedridden and in a sour mood so often. To think Contessina was the only one with access to him on those days ( in which he wished to see no-one or hear much from issues of other men ).

“I’m sure his porridge is finer than anything I had to eat as a child”, a mumble, his taller frame coming to sit on the bed as he settled the cane aside and shrugged off his fur with a bit more effort than it would usually take him.

His wife was to kneel before him, her hair unbound in the long waves with the strands of greying shade. Brought him back to his first musing, to the gleam of the sun reflected on her skin, to the fearlessness on her sight that matched his.

That was decades ago, buried in what they were once ─ never to be again.

Fingertips were working to help him out of his boots before he took her attention with a palm resting on her unblemished cheek, blues watched the lines around her eyes, on her forehead and then around her lips. Some of them caused by joy, some others by his own sins that _she_ lifted him up to repent from a while ago now, when he considered perhaps his soul was indeed lost.

“Thank you”, the man was to tell her, locking her emeralds to mirror his sapphires as the gems of their sights collided. “It’s been a great life so far, and you─”

The mother of the dynasty was to grow silent, urge him to speak in accord to his wishes. If anything, they had moments like this much less frequently than she’d wish for, and that was why she chose to always remain quiet and hear to what he had to say first.

“─You’ve been the good part of it”.

_The_ good part. Not _a_ good part. And Contessina easily noticed the difference, hint of a smile appearing on the corner of her lips afore she nuzzled into his hand to press a kiss to the mid of it.

“And you have been _all_ of it, my love”, apart from her son and more recently her grandchildren, she was aware that she had dedicated everything to him and the family that he brought into her life. “Now we should rest, yes? It’s late, and while good, it’s also been a very long life.”

A nod of his head as he was to push himself towards the pillows and under the sheets until he was lying properly with the thickness of the blanket to keep him from the colder evenings. Her petite figure filled the empty side of the bed after she was done ceasing the flames of the candles in their shared chamber, left only the creaks of the fireplace as it always had been.

With nothing, but their breaths and the warmness she radiated as she draped his side, Cosimo was to fall into slumber. Morning would come, and still a couple of years more to thank God for their exquisite journey.

**Author's Note:**

> reviews are always appreciated!!


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